september 1972

last year i spent 2 1/2 weeks in italy with my mum. we wandered around florence, through cobbled streets, past the high class classic fashion stores, past the cooking bookshops, past art and statues of posiedon. we walked across the river and up into the hills behind the city, discovered a wonderful sculpture exhibition by folon in the old fort, and had our breath taken away by the view of the rooftops of florence. we found our way to a village not even an hour from florence, in the hills of chianti. massanera. we stayed in an old lemon preserving factory, and walked a mile into the village to buy supplies and wine and fresh produce from the local stores and men in vegetable carts. we walked 14 miles across the tuscan hills, through olive groves, and vineyards, past convents and agriturismos and english tourists in campervans. we drank wine overlooking the same views. we read books and cooked with litres of olive oil.

we drank and talked and drank. mum told me wonderful stories of her young married life, of my parents living in north-west western australia, in a mining town. of camping in the desert, and boat trips, and long picnics on the deserted sands. of company parties and strange company mining town traditions & wives and company accommodation. of wanting to conceive a child. and ceremoniously burning the pill. look at my foxy mum, smiling mischieviously as she burns her pill & packets in a frypan. it took me two more years, but they did it!